When Ambrose saw Alan Watson, the once-spirited paladin was sitting dejectedly on the ground.
His longsword lay beside him, its blade riddled with cracks and nicks, clear evidence of an exceptionally brutal fight.
Alan's face was bruised and swollen, his handsome features completely unrecognizable. But the psychological trauma seemed far worse than his physical injuries. The light had gone out of his eyes, as if he had aged a dozen years.
Meanwhile, the Headless Knight stood to the side, casually filing his nails.
"What did you do to him?" Ambrose asked, surprised.
The Headless Knight shook his head, his tone dismissive. "Just taught him a little lesson. Paladins these days are a far cry from how they used to be. For someone of his level to venture out alone... the Ryan Empire has truly fallen."
"You sound like you have a personal grudge," Ambrose noted.
"His father is the Supreme Adjudicator of the Ryan Empire," the Headless Knight said. "Just his bad luck."
"You have a beef with James Watson too?"
Ambrose was a little surprised. The Headless Knight didn't seem like the scholarly type. He couldn't have had his work rejected by that racist old man, could he?
"James Watson? Who's that? I'm talking about Moody. He was the one who signed the warrant for my arrest back in the day."
Ambrose was speechless.
This headless knight certainly held a grudge. He was talking about a Supreme Adjudicator from who knows how many generations ago, yet he was taking it out on Alan. Talk about bad luck.
"Is it really that fun to bully a kid?" Ambrose asked.
Before the Headless Knight could explain, Alan spoke up. "He didn't. Sir Gareth kept his strength and speed equal to mine, but I was still completely helpless."
"That's normal," Ambrose comforted him. "You have no idea how long this guy has lived. It's no surprise that his martial skills surpass those of any mortal."
"Mortal..." Alan could only manage a bitter smile at the word.
He was a paladin of the Ryan Empire, trained rigorously since childhood. His swordsmanship was considered among the best of the younger generation. Even the emperor himself had knighted him, praising him as a future pillar of the empire.
But against this sloppy-looking middle-aged man, Alan had tasted the first crushing defeat of his life.
It had been utterly humiliating. The man hadn't even used a sword. He had defeated him with just a single finger, with his nail.
The swordsmanship he had once been so proud of was like child's play in front of this man. The moment he moved his arm, his opponent's nail was already at his throat, his eyes, his heart, or some other vital point. All those years of hard training, and he had so many openings he'd never even noticed.
Worse, his opponent had deliberately toyed with him, slamming him face-first into the ground with every exchange. His nose was long broken, and his front teeth felt loose. The injuries weren't severe, but the mental blow was devastating.
It was a complete and utter defeat, with no excuses to be found.
Now, hearing Ambrose's assessment, Alan felt even more humiliated.
So, in the eyes of a true powerhouse, he was nothing more than a mortal.
Confirming that Alan was not in any serious danger, Ambrose couldn't be bothered with him anymore and pulled the Headless Knight out of the cell.
Ambrose shared the seven prophecy fragments with the Headless Knight, hoping to get some information from him.
Although the Headless Knight wasn't a learned scholar, he had lived longer than Ambrose and had surely seen more. Perhaps he could make something of it.
But the result was disappointing. He, too, couldn't guess what was in the sewers. Instead, he was very concerned about the ruined bar.
"Brother Tiga," the Headless Knight said urgently, "will this prophecy really come true? Can it be changed?"
"Worried about your little orc sister?" Ambrose asked with a smile.
"Ona is innocent," the Headless Knight said with a strong sense of responsibility.
Ambrose was silent for two seconds, then said, "If your wife heard you say that, she'd be even more furious."
But seeing the Headless Knight's anxious expression, Ambrose offered what advice he could.
"I can't say for sure if prophecies can be changed. I'm a coward who doesn't dare to face fate myself. But you can face the future in a different way. The prophecy only says the bar will be destroyed, but it doesn't show the orc owner's body. So, whether she survives is still an unknown.
"The City of Alchemy is bound to be half-destroyed in the near future. Why don't you persuade her to leave early? As long as she's alive, the bar can be rebuilt, can't it?"
The Headless Knight's face lit up at the idea.
"Brother, you really have a way with things. I'll go talk to her right now, convince her to leave the City of Alchemy."
The Headless Knight was about to leave to find his orc sister when Ambrose stopped him.
"Wait, give this owner a message for me. If she wants to sell the bar, I can take it off her hands. But at a discount, of course."
The Headless Knight looked puzzled. "Didn't you say the bar is destined to be destroyed? Why would you buy it? That's a guaranteed loss."
"What else do you suggest?" Ambrose retorted. "Do you have any money on you? If not, how is that orc girl supposed to survive after giving up her bar? You think she doesn't need to eat or drink like the undead? If I buy the bar, she'll have the money to start over somewhere else."
The Headless Knight was moved beyond words. He threw his arms around Ambrose in a tight hug. "Good brother, I'll never forget this kindness. Don't worry, whoever takes your head off, I, Gareth, will be the first to avenge you!"
"Couldn't you just protect me *before* my head gets taken off?"
"You said it yourself, what the prophecy sees will come to pass."
Ambrose was speechless.
His soulfire flickered with irritation. Prophecies were truly the most annoying things in the world, especially the unfortunate ones.
After the Headless Knight left, Ambrose began to prepare for the arrival of the big shot from the Alchemists' Council.
He didn't have to wait long. A massive airship landed in front of his castle.
A serious-faced middle-aged man stepped off the airship. He wore a gold and red robe, similar in style to the Justicar's, but with more ornate patterns.
Ambrose, having assumed his human form, welcomed the man with a smile.
"My dear Flynn, it's been too long," Ambrose greeted him warmly. "The last time we met was, what, a dozen years ago?"
Gustavo Flynn, the sixth seat on the Alchemists' Council, a Legendary-tier alchemist whose published works could fill Ambrose's entire library. A true magnate.
For the City of Alchemy to send him, it was clear they placed great importance on Alan Watson.
Gustavo Flynn's expression didn't change in the slightest upon seeing Ambrose. He cut straight to the chase. "I know you, old friend. Just name your price. This paladin is very useful to us."
Ambrose beamed. "You're my favorite person on the council, Flynn. I've always admired your directness. Twenty million gold coins, and the man is yours."